


Worthy

by asyouwish76, MoonandWinter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Building a New World, F/M, Fluff, Hermione x Draco, Hurt/Comfort, In unlikely places, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, She's going on an adventure, Some Humor, Songs to each chapter, american magic, awesome new characters, lots of yelling, mushy love, native american school
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-07-24 06:31:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7497777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asyouwish76/pseuds/asyouwish76, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonandWinter/pseuds/MoonandWinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And for once, bravery looked alot like running away." -Kat Savage</p><p>Ten years after the war was won, two souls from opposing sides will find each other, and a strange kind of love, in an unlikely place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first time I've worked with someone while writing, and she is one of my best friends! Kenzie and I came up with this story on our super nerdy vacation to Philly comic-con. We 'wrote' the whole thing, start to finish, on the long 10 hour drives. Each chapter will have the real song that inspired it. 
> 
> We are so excited for you guys to read this and we hope that you love it as much as we do!

CH1

“Closer” by Lemaitre [X](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dSYu8FLVr_Y)

 

The summer was fast approaching with warm winds tinted with salt and rain that blew through the lazy streets of London where people went about their lives in splendid ignorance. Hermione Granger was not one of these blind folk enjoying the lovely May afternoon.

Wild hazelnut curls were pulled back into a severe bun atop a bent head. Her pace was brisk, heels snapping against the stone in sharp clicks, bringing her closer to her destination.

Work.

Merlin’s beard, it was always _work_. A never ending stream of sick patients, wizards and witches whose maladies were harder to discern and harder still to cure. Not that she had minded at first.

As she had always had a good head for potions, Hermione had thought this was a prime career, both to keep her busy and distracted, as well as helping people in a way few could.

But ten long years had passed since the battle of Hogwarts, nearly to the day, and the brightest witch of her age was struggling to find purpose in her otherwise drab life. Several young apprentices kept up with the patients now, having learned from her all she could teach, leaving Hermione to oversee and fill ceaseless amounts of paper work. The wonderful job had lost its challenge.

It had, too, lost its purpose of keeping her distracted from the nightmare and memories. Three times this month a witch or wizard had come into her special ward with a self-inflicted curse. Each one had done this to get to _her_ ; to meet one of the golden trio.

Three people had nearly ended their lives, just to be cured by her.

It made her sick. Worse was she knew it would happen again…

The only one of the original Golden trio to become reclusive, Hermione stayed out of the limelight and public eye for nearly a decade. The last time she had been in the news, some eight years ago, was on a scandal rag. The ‘ _big break up’_ , they called it. She and Ron thought of it as a relief after the drawn out relationship with no future had ended.

It simply wasn’t meant to be.

And since then, she had done her best to stay far from the fame and glory that came with her part in the defeat of Voldemort. But the people of the wizarding world liked to celebrate and with the ten year anniversary not a week away, Hermione knew her simple and private life was to be disrupted by a past she didn’t like to dwell on. The war was won, but she could never forget the pain of loss that came with victory.

Quietly and without pause, she shuffled past a gathering of wizards who were on the lookout for Harry, Ron, or perhaps even her. Hermione hummed softly in annoyance, though confident in her disguise; a simple charm to subtly change her appearance allowing her to walk freely on the streets without hassle. Still the crowd made her skin itch, even as she entered the solitary box at the end of the lane.

The phone booth was like most other entrances to the Wizarding world; unassuming and ignorable by design. Most wizarding folk knew where to look, or had charms that could show them to an entrance. This booth was the ‘public’ entrance to the Ministry and affiliated outposts. The numbers she dialed, however, were known only to her, a select few friends, and her apprentices.

The warm air vanished with her disguise charm in a whoosh as her body dropped through the floor. No matter how many times, nearly every day for ten years, she could not stop the panic that ate its way up her throat as the feeling of weightlessness overcame her.

Three seconds.

It was over quickly, and as usual her heart thundered wildly for many minutes after.

The walk through narrow halls, quiet and eerie in its calm, helped ease the panic some. Hermione chided herself, but knowing that when she took the shoot tomorrow, her anxiety will replay. As it will every time the floor opened.

The entrance to her rooms were in view, six patient doors across from her large potions lab. The grey stone was not marbled, but clean and crisp regardless. A simple wooden plaque, inlaid with silver by her door read,

 _Dr. H. J. Granger – Medical Potions tech and **UHP** (_unidentified hazardous potion _) specialist._

There used to be pride in seeing it. Now it caused her stomach to pinch.

Hermione had a single moment to compose her thoughts before the crash sounded from inside the lab.

Wand raised, she flung the door open, prepared to face the unknown threat. Papers were flittering to the floor as the familiar scent of sulfur burned her nose. The only floo entrance was connected straight from St. Mungos, which made her pause her attack.

Joaquin and Lucas, her two male apprentices were frozen in shock, eyeing her, then the intruder, then back to her.

The man who stumbled from the fireplace had wild eyes and wiry brown hair caked with a thick tar-like substance. The black goo dripped down his body like lava running in toxic rivulets; its contrast to the white hospital gown unnerving. Red rimmed eyes met hers and she saw there the very thing that she loathed.

_Awe._

He looked at her as if she were an angel come to earth and the pinch in her stomach wrenched into a painful knot.

“Hermione Granger!” The wild man sighed, a tar filled grin split his face. “I knew you were the physician! They said you weren’t but I figured it out!”

Hermione ignored his words as the panic and anger rose like bile up her throat.

“Sir, I believe you came from St. Mungo’s?” She asked calmly, her mind already trying to figure out the source of the sludge. “What were you being seen for?”

“I used my grandfather’s old potions book! Couldn’t read it so well, not in old Gaelic but that’s how I was able to see you! The nurses at Mungo’s couldn’t figure out how to get this stuff off. So you will!” The fever in his voice unnerved her, as well as the way the tar-like goo seemed only to bubble and expand ever so slightly. The smell of burnt hair made her eyes water.

Still, the awe remained bright in his eyes, hopeful and ignorant.

It’s that look, mirrored by the horror and agony on his face as she failed to cure him, as the black tar enveloped his entire body, slowly suffocating him, that cast Hermione into her own hell.

The apprentices tried desperately to keep the sludge away from his face as Hermione searched all of her tomes for a cure. The man’s happy elations of having met one of the Golden Trio turned to wails of pain and vile words, as the bubbling tar grew.

Tears and sweat mixed as Hermione threw together several potions, all having a base in a dissolvent. She hoped it would decompress the mass, at least giving them more time. She just needed more time…

But it hadn’t worked. Four hours after the man had shown up in a flurry of green dust and strewn papers, he died. Having sent the apprentices away after the last failed concoction, his last breath was seen only by her.

The once neat and organized lab lay in ruins; bottles and vials sat haphazardly. The chests of herbs, shelves and shelves of dried plant life, were open and scattered, looking all too much alike the state of Snape’s lab after the final battle.

When Harry and Ron finally arrived, only a few minutes after the patients last breath of life, they found her sitting next to the black mass of sludge, her skin pale and wet.

She didn’t speak to them. Didn’t need to because they knew her better than she knew herself.

Hermione couldn’t save the man. The wild eyed wizard had created the liquid spell, successfully engulfing himself in its unknown dangers, just to be cured by Hermione Granger. Brightest Witch of her Age.

But she _didn’t_ save him. She _couldn’t_.

She failed.

The boys took her back to her flat, arm in arm, and through the numbness she was reminded of their youth. Their adventures and life changing triumphs. Of their magical time spent at Hogwarts all those years ago.

But Harry had Ginny and the kids, and Ron was an assistant coach to Chudley Cannons. The boys she loved like brothers, hugged her, and told her it wasn’t her fault, even made her dinner.

Then they went home to their lives.

While she sat, feeling the walls close in.

 

 

The next morning came like it did every day, with grey clouds and heavy fog.

Owls swarmed her windows, carrying letters of disbelief and horror. She could already see the crowd of reporters in front of her flat. Hear them yelling out questions. Accusations.

_“Miss Granger, tell us what happened!”_

_“Hermione, why didn’t you save him?”_

_“What could you have done differently?”_

_“What will this do to your career?”_

_“Have you encouraged patients to hurt themselves to retain the glory of your youth?”_

Hearing these horrible words shouted just outside her home made her frantic. Worse still was that these were the very same questions she was asking herself. What could she have done to save him? Had she unknowingly encouraged his actions by being so reclusive? Maybe if she hadn’t been so afraid of the public eye, people wouldn’t have taken such drastic measures to see her.

Anxiety clawed its way into her heart, a panic that tasted like acid. Her heart pounded inside her chest, desperately trying to break out. Sweat made her palms slick, and her eyes filled with hot tears. Taking shallow heaving breaths, she kept envisioning the man she had failed.

How the admiration left his eyes only to be replaced by fear, blame, and resignation as the tar coated his body. She could hear his cries of pain, and gasping breaths as he slowly suffocated.

Sliding to the floor, Hermione closed her eyes and covered her ears, trying to shut everything out, but couldn’t rid herself of the memories. As the panic ate away at her soul, memories of the Battle of Hogwarts came unbidden, consuming her with grief and regret.

Her choking sobs did not cease for some time, but when they did she couldn’t move, numb from everything. Dust motes drifted lazily in the slice of sunlight that peaked through the window. Hermione watched as the sliver of day moved across the floor until finally disappearing into the night. The ringing in her ears wasn’t enough to keep her form drifting into a dreamless sleep.

Nothing much changed when she awoke, body curled into itself on the drafty wooden floor.

The only difference, however, was a letter that had been slid under her door, laying a mere foot from her prone form.

The muscles screamed in pain as she stretched out. Hair was stuck to her face, plastered by dried tears, and Hermione was sure that her hip and shoulder would be bruised for some time. After a moment of groaning, she managed a sitting position, leaning back against the floral print wall with the piece of mail at her feet.

The writer was unmistakable, using a soft pink paper and an enchanted violet ink that swirled and danced in beautiful designs.

Hermione almost ignored the cheery piece of mail, wishing that the world would just forget about her. But Luna was more than just a dear old friend.

Luna somehow managed to know exactly what Hermione needed to hear, whether she _wanted_ to hear it or not. Her friend had that way, of being simple and honest but never brutal.

Hermione, with her heart in shambles and her mind numb, opened the letter with slight reluctance.

It wasn’t one of Luna’s usual long letters, written in several pens over the course of a month, tangents and topics switching easily and with whimsy. This letter from Luna was different.

Inside the cheery envelope was an application for a teaching position. Miles and miles away from any wizard she knew, so far away that some might not even know her name. No other explanation or words of empathy. Luna sent her something much more important.

It was straight to the point; exactly what Hermione needed.

It was her _escape_.

Hermione silently thanked her dear silly friend, and made the decision in a heartbeat. She immediately got to work doing what she did best; planning.

For she was off to America.


	2. Ch 2

CH2

 

Loud Pipes-Ratatat (Ft Dan Avidan) [X](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AmFzVVk6F8Y)

For most of her life, Hermione had been a part of the Wizarding World and yet it still amazed her that the magical community could exist alongside that of muggles with the latter being none the wiser. Once upon a time, she too, had been ignorant of this other side of humankind.

There were times when she wondered what her life would have been like had she never learned of magic, but luckily those thoughts were far and few between. Now might’ve been one of those rare moments of doubt, but the small spark of excitement kept those feelings at bay, if only for now.

The soft buzz of machines and low hum of talk were background noise as Hermione looked around the crowded London airport. Muggles were bustling to and fro looking for their terminals or their travelling companions, completely oblivious to yet another of her kind’s secrets.

Enchanted Air was the Wizarding world’s premier international airline for those who did not fly via broom, traveling long distance by floo, or apparating. There were a few, mostly muggle born, who simply desired a hassle free, and magical danger free, flight.

This entrance was disguised as an out of order metal detector with a simple green velvet rope keeping muggles from stumbling into it. A witch or wizard would pass through the terminal much like Platform 9¾, except with much less running.

For a moment Hermione just stood and watched people walk by, their eyes passing seamlessly over the enchanted entrance, and rush to the slow moving security lines. She wondered briefly if they would have noticed it even if it hadn’t been layered with several concealment charms. Everyone seemed so caught up in their own little bubble, oblivious to anything outside of their narrow gaze.

A barely audible voice crackled overhead, announcing the departure time for flight E.A. at 10:00 am.

Anxiety gripped her soul, though this was a kind of hopeful worry. The unknown, but for the better. Though if she were truthful, and she really did try to be, anything would be better than the hell she was escaping.

The press had been reporting her apparent leave of work was her admission of guilt and while Hermione had gone over the incident nearly a dozen times, being reassured by everyone she knew, including the minister of magic herself that the fault was not hers, she couldn’t help but feel that the reporters were partially right. She could’ve…

 _No!_ She chided herself, feeling the darkness of guilt begin to overtake the tiny spark of excitement. _You’ve got to move forward_.

Today, of all days…

The morning had come, once again full of barely faded nightmares, leaving her shaking and tear stained as she packed the rest of the things deemed necessary. The panic and pain hadn’t left, but rather increased as the morning went by.

Ten years ago to the day, Hermione and her two dearest friends were bloodied and damaged, scarred in ways that not many knew. To everyone else, the battle of Hogwarts was won exactly a decade ago.

Even now, there were witches and wizards lining the streets, right outside the airport. They celebrated in merry songs and epic tales and cheerful parties. It took nearly every ounce of restraint in her to keep from shaking them. Couldn’t they see that this was a day for solemn remembrance, not happy revelries? Voldemort was destroyed, yes, but it was not a full victory and it never would be. They may have won _The War_ , but they had lost as well.

So much loss…

Hermione sighed heavily as she turned away from the vulgar display of public gaiety, comforted by her dear friends. The boys joined her in disguise, but she could always tell who was who simply by the way Ron stood or how Harry always tried to adjust glasses that weren’t there.

Hermione could feel the falseness of her smile, but the boys didn’t mention it. They stood on either side of her with their arms flung around her shoulders in an all too familiar embrace. The thin, dark skinned man with the awkward stance looked as though he might be sick.

“Hermione, you aren’t really going to fly in one of those death traps are you? Apparition would be much better…,” his voice drifted from a foreign mouth, in a deep tone that was not his and yet it was Ron’s apprehensive words that were spoken.

“Honestly Ron, how am I to apparate with all of my belongings? Muggles have been flying for decades and have rarely crashed, _and_ their planes aren’t supported by magic,” she retorted quickly, rolling her eyes at Harry. The bright sapphire eyes sparkled with mirth, a kind that belonged to harry alone, at Ron’s misunderstanding of anything muggle related. Instead of black unruly hair, this Harry was light blond and very pale; not quite thin but sturdy. A ghost of someone passed through her mind before her friend spoke, the image disappearing as quickly as it came.

“Don’t mind him, Hermione, he’s just upset because you’ll be gone for a year and he’ll have no one to bicker with,” Harry said, smiling in the way he does that was both worried and hopeful.

“If that’s the case, I’ll tell Ginny to be extra antagonistic,” she laughed and it felt odd in her mouth after all of the sobs. Even as Ron grumbled and rolled his eyes, the thundering of her heart picked up at the realization of what was to come.

Again, the cackle of a barely audible voice announced the final boarding call for flight E.A.

Hermione looked at her friends. Really looked at them, beyond their temporary disguise. Harry with his unruly black hair, and emerald eyes he passed to his children. He smiled a lot now, no longer burdened with the weight of the world. No one deserved happiness more than him, and she was so glad that he had found what he’d always longed for; a family.

And then there was Ron. Even though it didn’t work out between them as a couple, there would always be a special place in her heart for her first love. His freckled face lit up with joy as Harry made a quick joke about Ginny’s temper. He too had found what he was looking for; recognition and a talent of his own. But mostly, he had come to see in himself what everyone else had seen. Worth.

It was she who was lost. The brightest witch had never stood a chance outside the world of her youth. Those wonderful and awful years she had spent with these two boys; now men.

Merlin, she would miss them dearly. The buzz of noise faded as more hot tears spilled from her eyes, unbidden and raw. Strong arms pressed closer and she could almost pretend they were young again.

“I’m making the right decision, aren’t I?” The quiver in her voice apparent, though the breaking of her heart remained silent to all but her.

Without saying a word they both pulled her in tight. It was just the three of them, like it always had been.

They stayed that way for only a moment, holding breaths and each other, but time was short and they all knew it well.

“I’ve never known you to make a wrong decision,” Ron said confidently, using the sleeve of his jumper to wipe the tears from her chin.

Hermione squeezed him once more, thanking him with action. Then to Harry, a look. A question, to which he responded with a nod and a smile. Worry and hope.

They parted then, after whispered farewells. They boys went to their home and their life.

Hermione to something unknown.

When she finally boarded the plane, after a few wizard precautionary screenings. The signed paper from the minister allowed her to fly with the disguise, though the security didn’t like it at all.

When the all clear came through, Hermione was allowed to take her seat, happy to see the small craft was nearly empty. Not many wizarding folk would be traveling on this day.

It wasn’t until the engines had started loudly and the jerky rumble of takeoff had passed, that Hermione began to relax into the padded seat. Her mind, calmer now that the plane was steady in the sky, began to review her plans. She carefully removed the creased paper from her lap bag, making sure the stewardess was out of sight.

It must have been read a thousand times and she was sure she’d read it a thousand more. It did not feel real, this sudden and dramatic change, and yet here she was.

 

>  
> 
> Dear Ms. Granger,
> 
> We are thrilled to accept your application for the yearlong exchange teaching position at Four Winds Academy. I understand that you would like to join us at the end of the school year and stay for the summer to better prepare yourself for teaching. As mentioned in the application, we offer on-site housing for all of our staff during the school year and those who wish to remain over the summer. You are more than welcome here.
> 
> We await your owl with travel details.
> 
> Regards,
> 
> _Four Winds Academy Of American Witchcraft and Wizardry,_
> 
> _ Jacob Blackfinn _
> 
> Mr. Jacob Blackfinn
> 
> Dean of Admissions

 

It was simple and without flourish, unlike that of her old headmaster. The paper was crisp and white, inked from what appeared to be a typewriter, and something about the simplicity of it made the knot in her stomach ease slightly.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried desperately to imagine what this next year would hold, but for all of her hurried research, she came up with little information about the school in which she was to teach. Had she not sent in a well-stocked application and a few high ranking recommendations, she was sure she wouldn’t have qualified, not having the proper training.

But the Dean had accepted her regardless and hopefully, by the time she came home, Hermione would have a new perspective on life. She would hopefully find herself; her meaning.

_Anything._

The harsh jerking sensation woke her, the panic rising like bile. Another sharp lurch forward and slowly she began to fight her way through the fog of fear.

Unfallen tears burned her eyes as she quickly put away her wand. At some point, she had fallen asleep, forever chased by the nightmares of war, to be awoken by the plane landing.

Chiding herself quietly, Hermione gathered up her few belongings and followed the other passangers off the craft and into the largest terminal she had ever seen. The narrow walkway opened up into a veritable city; shops, foods, and even a hotel with rooms lining the upper levels. She was just a drop of water in the ocean of people, everyone moving with purpose and action.

It may have been intimidating for some of her kind, but Hermione was simply in awe by live that vibrated from every corner of the airport. It was the final link, a sort of official sign that she was _here_ and she was changing her life.

A small smile, foreign and crooked, curved her lips as she spied a sign, held high above the rush of muggles.

**_H.J. Granger_ **

The man who was holding the paper noticed her approach, nodding a small bow. Onyx eyes spoke of old wisdom and life, though there was tremendous kindness there as well as he beamed at her. A long braid of silken raven hair was graciously hanging from the side of his warm tanned face and immediately, Hermione recognized him as the Dean.

“Welcome to America, Miss Granger.”


	3. ch 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under Control by Ellie Goulding

Ch 3

 

Mountains were synonymous with safety, at least they had been until her seventh year. But the staggering peaks before her...

America, it seemed, was a wild landscape of ever changing scenes of differentiating degrees of lush green forests and massive grey cities. The roads in which the Dean drove were winding with turns and a steepness that both surprised and excited her.

The bubble of hope was foreign though no less welcome as the large mountains of the Appalachians rose sharply from the horizon. The summits piercing the sky in jagged points, looked so vastly different from those of her childhood.

It was magnificent.

The Dean rambled on nearly the entire drive, his calm low voice soothed the panic from the flights landing. He spoke of the land, the roads, and even pointed out several landmarks. Hermione, all the while silently filed away all of the information, eager to learn as much as she could about this wild country.

Her smile was small but honest as the conversation turned to the school. It had been a sacred Native village, hidden in the mountains.

“Four Winds is ancient, Professor Granger. Older than any written records of my people.” Dean Blackfinn’s face remained on the road but Hermione had the distinct impression that he was watching her intently. “The tribes of before came together to hide and protect those young people with magic blood.”

There was a pause as the road before them became smaller, the dense trees telling of a much less traveled area.

“Yes, I tried to read up but I’m sorry to say there’s not much information out there about the Four Winds.” Hermione paused, fidgeting with the hem of her blouse. “There’s not much of anything on _any_ magical presence in America.”

The cab of the small truck was filled with Blackfinn’s soft chuckling, and it eased the knot in her stomach at having so little knowledge.

“Well, we do have a bad history with trusting outsiders.” His smile was genuine once more, as he spared a quick wink.

“Oh. Right.” Of course. How could she have forgotten? The warmth of her face must have been obvious but the Dean simply continued as if she hadn’t had a lapse in sense.

“Do not worry, Professor Granger. We are moving ever forward in the universe, so we must do so with our lives, yea?”

The idea filled her mind; stalled all thought of embarrassment and echoed a truth she’d been searching for.

“I do like that.” She whispered softly, agreeing and at the same time making a promise to herself. Move forward with the universe.

“And perhaps you will find us more open to outsiders than we have been previously. You _are_ our second foreign professor.”

Curiosity nipped at Hermione. She was going to ask about the other teacher and where she hailed from, but the vehicle began to slow. The mountains were obscuring the sun, casting massive mid-evening shadows along the empty road.

“Our entrance is hidden, as I’m sure you’ve presumed, but it can only be accessed by someone with a particular charm that is granted to them.” Blackfinn explained, pulling from his thin Jacket a rather crude looking stick. It wasn’t until he stepped down from the vehicle that she noticed a feather and a silver ring around its base.

The side of the road ended with gravel and several feet from there was a never-ending view of densely packed trees, pointed and sharp. The scene screamed foreboding, but she assumed that it was to keep the muggles away.

Blackfinn waved at her to follow, as he stood at the very edge, where the gravel ended and the dirt and moss began.

Cautiously, yet excitedly, Hermione slowly crept forward. The crisp air that entered her lungs was unlike anything she’d ever felt. It breathed life, and something inside her sighed.

But her calm lasted for only a moment.

“You’ll need your wand, Professor.” Blackfinn’s voice was serious, being so unlike their previous interaction, that it made her pause. The knot in her stomach was back, along with the thundering of her heart.

But this was no time for back stepping, not when the unknown meant forward.

Power and security raced through her body as she pulled her wand from the long pocket sewn inside her blazer. The sturdy wood felt just as natural now as it did the day she snatched it up from a lovely old Ollivander wand box.

The noises of the forest quieted and an eerie hush fell. Hermione knew this was a test; that somehow she was to prove _something_.

It was her turn to move forward and so she did. One foot, then two.

She might have walked further had it not been for the hundreds of birds, too many to comprehend, flying viciously around her. Swarming, circling, but not touching. The beats of their silky black wings kicked up dirt and the wind whipped at her face.

Her hand tightened around her wand but she did not raise it, did not attempt to fight. The crows screeched, a chaotic chorus of screams.

For a moment, it wasn’t the birds she heard, but the screams of the war. Of Hogwarts, the death-eaters, the students. Her own.

But the birds were slowing, no longer shrieking. The wind stopped and her nightmare faded with it. Hermione now watched in awe as the birds dissipated, drifting like smoke through the ancient trunks of the forest. It was over so quickly, it might not have happened at all.

Except there was a bird left. Only one. Larger than any raven she’d seen. Older too, with something otherworldly.

He gazed steadily at her, beady eyes studying her soul. He hopped several paces until he was nearly on top of her foot, eyes never leaving hers.

“Hello, old one.” The words fell from her mouth as if they were always there, waiting to be spoken.

The only other sound was her heart, thrumming loudly through layers of skin and cloth.

And then quite suddenly, with no warning, the Crow took flight. His massive wings covered her face in sheer darkness and then there was a sharp pain on her skull.

When her eyes opened, Blackfinn stood next to her, smiling largely. His own black eyes were old and wise, patient and kind. Hermione smiled back still confused but delighted.

“The Ókȯhkeve-ho is our guardian. The Crow Chief. He needs a piece of you to open the entrance.”

Hermione nodded, the hair that had been plucked from her head would allow her passage into the sacred lands. Clever bit of safe keeping.

This monumental moment was not lost on her and she felt pride in having been accepted by the ancient creature. The landscape was alive once more with chirping of bugs and other small rodents and she realized that the forest didn’t look as intimidating as it had moments ago.

“Well, as us American’s say, we are burning daylight. Better get up there before full dark.” Her companion called, already climbing back into the sleek black vehicle. She quickly followed with shaking knees.

Hermione felt a shiver race down her spine as, within moments, the vehicle passed through the magical barrier protecting the school from the muggle world. Trees seemed to bend for them as the headlights lay a bright yellow path. There was no discernable road but still the truck drove on as smooth as cement and soon she noticed that the foliage had thinned.

Just barely visible in the last bit of sunlight was a large sprawling valley below, filled with lush greenery, ancient trees larger than any she had ever seen, and a backdrop of the mountains she was already falling in love with. Amid the wide basin, Hermione could make out several buildings, now darkened by the mountains shadows.

“What you may not know about Four Winds academy is that our history is rich with many different peoples and varieties of magic. You will be able to see the vast difference in the structures of our student housing.” Blackfinn explained as they approached the buildings in question.

Hermione’s excitement grew as too did the buildings. Even in the light dusk, the difference in style between the four smaller structures was obvious.

“Little is known of the Four Winds academy in the outside world, but we have a rich history. The Anishinaabe founded this school as a hidden place for those who wished to learn magic during a time when our land and way of life were being taken from us. For more than a hundred years we taught what you might know as traditional Native American magic. This type of magic is mostly associated with healing of the mind, body, and soul through rituals and herbs, but there is much much more to it as you will soon learn,” Blackfinn described as they drew closer to the first of the student houses.

The one-story structure was old; massive wooden planks, stained by time, were stacked neatly in a perfect rectangle. The roof might have been made of the same planks, yet was now unseen under heavy moss and in some areas, netted gardens. A fire on each side lit the insides and Hermione could see students moving about, though she couldn’t see them clearly.

“I though the students had a summer break?” Hermione asked, the sight confusing her.

“They do, but like some of our Professors, they may choose to stay over the summer. The older students work on the grounds. We offer year-round protection.”

The idea sent chills down her spine. She knew that not that long ago many magical folk were hunted and killed simply for who they were. This place was, and still is, utterly important.

 “More than a hundred years after we settled here to teach our young, witches from Salem came to us seeking sanctuary. They too were being threatened, as you may know. We invited them to learn our ways and they in turn taught us a magic we knew next to nothing of. Theirs’s came from Europe and closely resembles what you learned at Hogwarts,” He continued as they slowly rolled past the gorgeous colonial home.

The building was simple and lovely, if not modest with tall pillars giving it impressive heights. Flat darkly painted walls were contrasted with rows of neat white shutters. In each of the several dozen windows, white curtains hung, some with a soft yellow glow indicating life.

 “During this time we also invited our western brethren, the Na-Dene, to join us. But it wasn’t until the expeditions to the west began in earnest that they truly became a part of our hidden world. Their land was being invaded as ours had been, and they too sought refuge. By now we had developed a discreet reputation as a safe-haven for the magical community. The Na-Dene came to us and with them brought yet another form of magical practice. They relied heavily on spiritual guidance, meditation, and divination.”

The next building was smaller but no less impressive with sandy colored walls that seemed to round at the top. Rather than looking out of place, the large oval structure seemed to fit neatly in, sitting next to it’s strange and wonderful neighbors. Blue smoke rose lazily through several pillars, disappearing in the late evening sky and there was a glow of warm fires indicating that there were students busy inside.

“By now, we were an unofficial school. Magical folk from all over the country came to us to learn the various types of magic that we taught. It wasn’t until after the civil war, however, that we truly became what is now known as Four Winds. When the African slaves came to the American south, they brought with them many different magics. Over the years, the creole and voodoo folk unified, as did their magic. They were a fairly small community and after gaining their freedom, wished to join our unofficial school for the safety, as well as the knowledge offered. Their type of magic, hoodoo as most people call, is very much based on the body.”

Hermione grinned at the next lodging, already feeling the life that vibrated throughout it. Music rang clearly from the open windows where charms and talismans hung with brightly colored strings. The structure was less of a single building and more like several different, oddly shaped shacks, all inter-connected by a single, long, wrap around porch. Dozens of chairs were out, some occupied with students of different ages. A few were practicing magic, while others read by candle light. And just a couple sat and watched the sky with their feet tapping along to the drum beats that came from inside.

 “So there you have a brief history of the Four Winds Academy, and a better understanding of why there is so little known of us,” Blackfinn finished as they drove past the student’s dorms. “We were founded to keep the children safe.”

“It’s incredible.” Hermione sighed, feeling full on knowledge and understanding. 

Dean Blackfinn chuckled as road curved around impressive buildings. The school itself was much like the students living quarters in that it was a conglomeration of the different cultures.

“And here, just over the creek, is the Professors living quarters.” The truck pulled over before reaching the small river, however. What Hermione assumed was the main hall sat brightly lit beside them.  “If you are up for it, I’d like for you to come and eat with me and the other professors staying here for the summer. I’ve told them we have a new educator but didn’t tell them you were a foreigner. I like surprises.”

The Dean winked, pulling his smooth hat from off the dash and planting it atop his head. Hermione knew rest would do her well, what with the rough flight and the nerves but she simply couldn’t say no.

“Will they be angry?” Hermione enquired nervously as the Dean opened her cab door.

“Not at all. In fact, Professor Black was welcomed with open arms.”

That name, no matter how many times she’d since heard it, always made her heart stutter. The Black family name caused her so much mental distress that it was instinct now to flinch from it, though she kept it to herself.

And yet, it wasn’t an uncommon name. Many families had a surname of Black and if the other professor were from, say Spain, she or he might not even be related to the family that had caused her such pain.

Hermione chided herself on her foolishness as the pair climbed the steps that led to the main hall. Inside she could hear a dozen voices, low and calm. The smell of food and fire calmed her panic some, allowing her mind to clear before they entered.

The hall looked like an enormous cabin from the inside with warm planks of wood stacked from floor to ceiling. The hearth was impressive as well, heating the room to a comfortable degree, while the long open windows brought in the sweet evening air.

A welcome was shouted as they entered, and she had only a moment to brace herself as the crowd moved forward. So many faces, all pressing in, taking her hand with hospitable words. She wouldn’t remember their names, nor faces. Not from lack of trying.

No. It would be because she had caught sight of the lightest blond hair and eyes of silver.

It would be because said eyes widened in panic once they found hers.

It would be because the tormentor of her youth quietly and quickly escaped the hall as the onslaught of Professors welcomed her.

And it would be because she somehow had managed to politely excuse herself before they had all finished, so she could dash from the front steps to pursue the imposter she knew was Draco Malfoy.

 


End file.
